A Flower for a Smile
by SilverSnowLight
Summary: Inigo was a flirt, a dancer, maybe even a singer. But he had never fell in love. Not once. Who would you fall for when the world and its future is filled with death. Yet the Gods seem to fool him so, when he saw her again after traveling back through time. Did she always had such beautiful eyes? (Hanahaki AU) (Frozen intill summer)
1. A Curse

It had all started with the dragons.

Grima waging in an onslaught against his people, killing all those that opposed and massacring those that show fear. In all, it was a genocide. No one was safe.

Till the blade of the white dragon pierced him, putting him into endless sleep.

Most of the people were overjoyed, no longer they had to hide away from the god of destruction that terrorized and burned their land.

But as presaid, most of the people were overjoyed.

Those that were loyal, followers of the dragon that almost brought their demise swore an oath and pledged to find a way to awaken the Fell Dragon once more.

They were called the Grimleals, bloodline of the Plegians.

After a many number of trials and experiments they had almost done it, they had almost made it so that they were able to awaken the dragon that they pledged as god. They had almost ruined the world once again.

But the Voice heard what had happened. And as her title, she had informed the white dragon, Naga.

And Naga…. Naga was saddened with great guilt. To think that her people will go against her and fight to reawaken the enemy of man was a betrayal. To all the mortals her swore to protect and yet they still turned to another.

It hurt her so when she was forced to place a curse on her own people.

The people that she loved had made themselves to think that they love and worship their god. Praising and calling for him. So in turn she made their love a double edged blade, something that cuts far deeper than their skin.

Their heart.

With a pure white flower in her hand she vowed that those with the blood of the worshipers that called themselves to love the destruction god would be placed upon a curse that would last generations to come. Those that find their love was given to another was soon to be infected with a seed inside of them. A seed that will soon blossom and kill them if they did not say a word to the being that they love.

Red painted the streets, no worshiper could tell a sleeping god that had disappeared that they love him. No one could tell a dead corpse so.

That was the year that the most purest of emotions was turned into an ugly weapon.

The year of the Crimson Garden.


	2. A Miracle

It was beautiful. Its petals were soft, feather like. The dark violet that turned to a light shade of indigo traveled from the very center to the tips. In the light, it almost looked like a crystal, a jewel, rather than a delicate flower that could easily be crushed by his fingers.

Without another word, he brought the flower to his nose and took a wift.

It was bitter-sweet, tart like in a way. Hints of morning dew with the freshness of spring.

He let go of the flower as he fell back, hitting his body on the soft sight of the flower field he had the honor to wake up in.

Smiling, Inigo turned to pluck another flower, one of pale peach. Careful to cut it with his fingers, he snapped the flower stem and twirled in in his hand.

It was an odd sight, new to his own brown eyes as he gazed at the small beauty in his hand.

It was a simple thing that others would have demise. A flower is hardly a sight to pause and gawk at. But to Inigo, it was a sign of a miracle.

He had done it, he was now in the past.

He giggled, light and childlike before it became a full on burst of laughter.

He had never felt this happy since… well, since a long time.

_"Run! Don't worry about me. Just run!"_

Swallowing the lump that threatened to push out he sat up again, legs crossed. He sat there, staring at the field for a moment, enraptured by it. Without a word, he started to pluck the flowers, one by one.

Skilled fingers, those that have been surly trained in both grace and strength, twisted and turned the stems. Weaving them to inturewin and make a ring to fit over his head.

He gave a hum of satisfaction when he gazed at the finished crown.

The colors were all light, color faded away from the sun. Pink, peach, orange and white made a sunset effect. Daisies, daffolidles, primroses, and petunias are on full display. But only one was different.

The pervouse flower he held, one of the dark violet, was on full display, an outsider from all the rest.

Just like his father was.

A drop of water fell onto the violet flower petal.

It took Inigo a moment to realize he was crying before he wiped away his tears rather harshly.

It was a surprise but not unwelcome, he hasn't cried as long as he hasn't smiled. To be honest, he felt like he couldn't feel any emotions anymore like how some of the soldiers would whisper behind him and his father.

_Cursed child_

_A wretch_

_Unnatural_

_Backstabbers_

_Plegians_

He forced a smile, one that was a tab more stretched then his naturel one and placed the crown over his head.

He must have missed counted how many flowers he used because the wreav slipped further down to his forehead.

His cheeks tinted rose, huffing he tried to push the flower crown back to rest on his hair but would be deemed a failure every time. Finally he let it go.

The moment was quiet, strange to his ears. A bit of wind came and made waves form across the field. The shade from the clouds were like ships, sailing across the sea of flowers. His white, almost silver with its shine, had flapped in front of his eyes. Without a word he moved his hair out of his way.

Then he forgot how to breath.

Olivia, mother, was dancing. Her hair swirling, tangling itself with the wind. Her sash was whipping by her side, shape and graceful. Her hips swayed and moved to the rhythm of Mother Nature, her legs moved softly, leaps and bounds with her dance, her fingers playing with the sunlight.

She was a beauty too many, to him she was warmth.

Finally she stopped, a smile grounded on her face before she looked at him.

_"Dance with me."_

The illusion of his memory disappeared.

He caught his breath again.

_"Dance with me."_

He jumped to his feet, sword placed down on the ground before his armor followed close behind.

_"Dance with me."_

Standing to where his mother was, he stopped, fixed teh flower crown over his head to be safely tucked around his forehead.

_"Dance with me."_

"I'll dance with you mother."

And so he danced over the field of flowers.

Dancing not in anger, sadness, guilt or fear. He danced with hope.


	3. A Story

His first night was under the stars. The sky was bright with so many colors with the illusion of the moonlight. It was then he knew that he was sometime around summer, with the blue shine of Moonflowers lighting the field during his sleep.

It was surreal, dreamlike. Like one of his Father's spells that he would cast for him for his birthday once upon a time. It was different from his normal spells, a light blue haze that sparkled in the light. It danced and curled around him. What made it even more amazing was that it could touch him. He laughed when the haze tickled his cheek, trying his hardest to grab a fistful of it. But be as it may, he couldn't touch the haze, his hand phasing through. It didn't bother him though, he only energetically asked his Father if he would teach him that spell.

And he did, he taught him the simple but beautiful spell he made just for him. It wasn't long before he added it to his journal filled with his own collection of spells. His father taught him many things, spells that were simply to attract and others to harm. While his father was known for his curses he only gave him the bare minimum of those types of spells. Be as it what others may say about him, he always looked out for his well being.

Still, he always wanted to learn his Father's curses. It didn't matter how people will glare or ridicule his Father for being a dark mage or how he would be fascinated with the Risen. No, to him, Father was his hero. No matter what he did, he would always stay by his Father's side.

Because they only had each other after Mother died.

He fell asleep with a blue haze sparkling under the moonlight.

The next day he walked towards the east. If he was in Valm, he would meet the port of Chon'sin or the ocean air. If he was in Ylisse, then he would soon meet the capital of its land's name, or the very least, the heated desert. If the latter was true then he would go Southwest to Foxria. A safer bet than walking into the land in which a mad king rules.

It was dawn when he departed from the fields. Only an hour had passed before he saw a road for him to follow through. Nodding to himself he walked on, careful to have his sword at the ready, a spell in mind.

It was almost midday, after hours of walking past fields, farms, and forests when he heard something.

The wheels of a carriage.

He froze for a bit, the sound foreign to him. In the future, a carriage would only slow you down. Carry as much as you need but nothing that weighs you down, leave behind anything that wasn't suited for battle.

It hurt him to leave behind his Mother golden dancer rings or his Father's trinkets from Plegia. But he did keep a few things. One of his Mother's headbands she would always wear, his Father's spellbook that was hexed to weigh nothing (once he found the spell inside the book), his Mother's ring, his Father's coat. He had thought about taking his Father's whistle that he always saw him keep around him, curious as to why he did when the castle was attacked. So out of panic, he took it with him, alongside his single satchel of things he needed to fight and survive.

He was selfish with his packing.

He almost regretted packing as much as he could.

The day was grim, death was in the air, too many lives to bury.

It wasn't till he could see the top of the carriage from the distances that he forced himself to look straight ahead and walk.

Distantly the sound closed in. Laughter and sounds of excited chatter became as clear as the squeaks of the wooden wheels.

A dark thought came over him when his ears filled him in. They were all carefree and joyous, unaware of the fate that they all were destined to face. They don't understand what he had to go through in order to see that they live, that they all live. He sacrificed everything...

The nickering right behind him broke him out of his thoughts.

Surprised and startled by the sound he jumped. A small squeak of his own escapes him as he stares wide-eyed at the animal in front of him.

"Oi! Son, are you alright?"

His tongue, which always had a sweet compliment to give, did not work as he tried to stutter out a response. "H-huh?"

A man, sandy brown hair and tan skin. A body that was lean and tall, built with muscle but not so much that he would be built like Vaike. Holding a rear in one hand he waved at him, an apologetic smile on his face. "Sorry there, I was just asking if you were alright. Seems like little old Annette here wanted to grab your attention."

The horse, Annette, nickered and nayed. As to show the proof of the man's words she bumped her nose at Inigo's head.

Despite his surprise, he giggled.

It seems his touch for animals never wavered.

Gathering the mares head in his hands he stroked her, this caused her to snort and flick her tail in the air.

He smiled, amazed at what the day had brought to him. A mare, one of a light brown coat and a darker shade of hair standing before him. She was clean, shiny to show how well she was cared for.

For once, he was calm.

"She's beautiful," he breathed, giving his compliments to the owner, the power to speak again came back to him.

The man boomed a laugh, free and light as he all but thanked him for the praise of his mare. When the man was still laughing, someone came from behind him.

"Papa, why did you stop?"

A girl, one with chestnut hair came from the cart. Like her father who was tan, she too had the same color of fairness. Hazel colored eyes looking curiously at both him and her father.

His heart squeaks from the sight.

"It's nothing pumpkin," the man moved to place his hand over his daughter's hair and rub. The girl, in reaction, moved to try and take his hand off of her. "Just a traveler who Annette took alike'en to is all."

Eyes wide, the girl turned to look at Inigo and Annette, who was now nibbling the tips of his hair. He could tell that she was trying hard not to laugh with the look of clear surprise.

The girl then started to babble, it seems like Annette was a picky horse when it came to those that she liked. Seeing how the mare practically cuddled him made the girl excited to see a stranger tame the family animal.

One thing led to another and Inigo was now sitting in the back of the carriage with the girl (Cindy was her name) and an older woman that introduced herself as Marine.

"I thank you for the company," Marine explained as she took a bite out of her lunch, bread filled with ham and potatoes, a Chon'sin ration. "It's nice to have someone that isn't shorter than your waist around once in a while."

Cindy pouted from her mother's words and dragged out her protest. "Mmmoooommmmm!"

Marine only giggled at her daughter's distress and pinched her cheeks just lightly.

Inigo smiled from the sight before shaking his head. "No, ma'am. It should be I who should be thanking you for you and your husband's kindness. You really didn't have to let me ride with you."

Marine smiled, and he couldn't help but notice that Cindy had the same smile as her. Cindy had gotten most of her looks from her father (Rodrick) with her mother having instead blonde hair and lavender eyes with pale skin. But as much as the little girl looks like her father she still had small hints of her mother from her petite size and rose blush.

"It's not a problem at all! Besides, are Annette has taken a liking to you, and let me tell you, she is a good judge of character."

He huffed a bit but let it go, it was always hard to fight a mother in an argument with anything. He would know, not only from his own but from the other Shepherds as well who tried to fill in the role of mother when his was gone.

But he shouldn't pounder so much, at least, not at the moment.

"So tell me, dear," Marine asked as she wiped away some of the bread crumbs from her daughter's face. "Where are you going from here this far west? Are you a mercenary?"

Inigo made a mental note on that, knowing now that is somewhere very far from the west and established he was in Valm. If he was in Ylisse, he would have seen the snow-covered mountains of Ferox by now.

"No," Inigo shook his head. Taking care of the canteen in his hand, he took a small sip and closed it shut, as full as the canteen was; he would rather save as much water as he can with him. A side effect from the dire future that he had been exposed to force him to make a habit of persevering with any bits of food or water he could gather up. Still, as dry as his mouth felt, he didn't open the canteen again. "I am simply a traveler, I really don't have much of a plan what to do when I hit the road but thought it was best to find the nearest town. I just started a few days ago."

Marine frowned. "Oh, you said you just started? You look like you've been on the road for months now."

Inigo hated to admit, but he did look like he went through hell and back. There were dirt marks all over his face, scratches here and there. His boots have faded their color to an ugly gray, and the gloves he used to love wearing all the time were discarded along the road somewhere back. His clothes were ripped in many places, only covered by his father's coat he managed to save all those years ago. At first, he didn't want to wear it. For one, he didn't want to wear something that wasn't meant for him, one of his few momentos from his deceased father. The second was that it was the colors of Plegia, and has seen as the whole-world-destruction-thing was caused by them, might give others the impression that he was the enemy to all of Ylisse and Valm.

But he can't necessarily say he's from the future and came to fight a long-dead dark god of sorts now, can he?

So he sprung a tale of his origins and told little stories from the road, and in turn, made both Cindy and Marine open up and tell stories of their own. Even Rodrick joined in after a while.

It was nice, having company like this, the nostalgic feeling of chatting around with others and sharing stories like they were in front of a campfire under the stars.

He wasn't happy, far from it with the lingering thoughts of the telling future on the rise, a looming presence over his shoulder.

But after so many years, he was secured.

Or at least, he was.

"You know, you act just like my son at your age."

A warning bell went through his head for some reason when she said that and his mouth moved without meaning to. "You have a son?"

Cindy suddenly went quiet, her feet were no longer swinging and her excited babbling went to a halt. Marine had sadness in her eyes as she let her hand slip to his cheek, making him flinch slightly from the contact of skin against skin. He could not see him but something tells him that Rodrick was now listening in and was just as silent.

Guilt clawed him, for he knew those same expressions, what they mean on anyone.

"I'm sorry," he started, his voice lowered. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright," Marine cut off. She raised her hand to cup his other cheek and didn't reject her this time. "You didn't know, and if I were being honest, I'm sorry for being the selfish one."

Inigo frowned his eyebrows but didn't get a chance to open his mouth when she shushed him.

"I've been thinking about how similar you look to my son. So much so that I thought you were him. He had the same eyes as you, same speech, he even had his ear pierced on his left side."

Inigo stayed silent.

Marine smiled.

"You see, I'm a Plegians, half Plegian mind you but still Plegian neither a less."

He blinked and looked back into her lavender eyes. Now that he thought about it, only Plegian managed to have purple eyes. Sure there will be times when those in Chon'sin may be born with that color as well but they usually have pale skin and darker hair color.

"One day, he found a pretty girl near a tavern in our village. There were some bandits at the time and he fought them off with one of the sellswords we sent him with." A far off shine of pride lit in her eyes. "He was a boy who will always put others before himself, you should have seen the many bruises they left on him. He was in such a state that I thought he was halfway to death!"

She paused, her gaze far away as she recalled such memories.

"He was hailed a hero by the tavern's owner, a free drink every time he went and he went so many times I thought I would have to stop him from drinking himself to bed! But he wasn't there for the drinks… he was there to see the girl he saved."

A second, maybe two, when it clicked.

It all made sense, his brown eyes wide.

He didn't…

Marine must have seen the pieces click because she moved her thumb on his cheek in a calming gesturing motion.

"My Plegian blood, while half, managed to be passed down to my son. I-," she took a deep breath. "I only managed to be fortunate enough to only see a few weeks worth of petals when I plucked up the courage. I think my son was planning on confessing as well."

"He would take flowers, weave jewelry out of the shiny stones he found, even wash behind his ear."

A look of teasing and laughter danced in her eyes before it dimmed.

"But then one day she died."

His breath caught. His thoughts racing.

_"One can never tell a dead god their love."_

A heavy air covered them, an uncomfortable tension.

Inigo's mind was a mess, his past was a tragedy, his family was gone. So he out of everyone in this world knew how it felt like to be burdened with the death of those you knew. Friends. Soldiers. Family.

Without a word he reached out to Marine's hand on his cheek and covered it.

Her hand turned over and held his in return.

No words were exchanged yet they understood, he understood.

This was enough. From all the horrors he saw this was enough.

This was enough.


End file.
